Black Sun

He paused to make sure Stecker was with him.

“When you run your car you’re releasing stored energy, not creating it. A nuclear plant does the same thing in a different way. It splits atoms, and the breaking of that bond does exactly what the breaking of the chemical bond in the petroleum does: It releases stored energy, but on a much greater scale. In both cases, however, the energy was always present, and its potential could be determined before it was used.”

He pointed toward the stone. “But this thing is different. It’s emitting energy through no process we are able to understand—at times, massive amounts of it. Our best explanation is that it is somehow creating energy or perhaps drawing it from a quantum background.”

Stecker looked dizzy. He responded less arrogantly than Moore would have expected, perhaps because he was off balance.

“Okay,” he said. “So that’s what it does. You have a stone here that makes energy. Great, let’s hook it up to the grid and stop the global warming everyone’s so worried about. But that doesn’t explain why it’s so important, why so few people were told about it in the first place, or why you’re telling me about it now.”

Moore looked to the president. He nodded; it was time for the whole truth.

“Because,” Moore said, “the stone is not some naturally occurring entity. It’s not a rock, or some exotic new element found in the depths of the earth. It’s a piece of machinery constructed by the hands of men and women. One that was found along with a horribly mutated human skeleton and a prophecy of doom, predicting the downfall of civilization. Billions killed in war, waves of disease and famine, punishment for the sins of human pride. All of it stemming from an event on December twenty-first, 2012.”

Stecker scoffed at what he was hearing. “The Mayan prophecy,” he said. “The one I can’t turn on the damn TV without hearing about. Is that what we’re talking about here?”

Moore nodded. “The glyphs McCarter found refer to it as the day of Black Sun.”

“Black Sun? Like an eclipse? Like from a solar flare?”

“We don’t know,” Moore said.

“You don’t know?”

“No, Byron,” Moore said, exasperated. “We don’t know. In case you didn’t realize it, hieroglyphics don’t come with footnotes and a commentary. So we’re figuring it out as we go along.”

Stecker didn’t look convinced. “Come on, Arnold,” he said finally. “The world is full of lunatics telling us the end is near; you can find them on any street corner if you want. Why the hell should we care about this one?”

“Because,” Moore said, “in our case, the lunatic wasn’t a prophet but a historian.”

“Excuse me?”

The president stepped in and lowered the hammer of truth as bluntly as possible.

“Byron, we care about this doomsday prophecy because of its origin, because the NRI believes that it, and this stone, were created not thousands of years ago, but eleven centuries from now, by our descendants, three hundred generations removed.”

Stecker’s eyes went wide at what the president was saying.

Moore tried to explain. “The body I spoke of bore the remnants of advanced prosthetics that had been implanted into it or had been grown over by the living bone. From the description and its surroundings, our conclusions were that this person had suffered massive mutation or even purposeful genetic modification designed to help it survive life in a sulfurous acidic environment.”

“I can’t believe you’re—”

“This is no joke,” Moore insisted.

Stecker looked at the president, who shook his head solemnly.

Stecker exhaled sharply. Whether he believed what he was being told or not, Moore couldn’t decide, but at least he’d stopped arguing the point. “So this thing’s a problem?”

“Yes,” Moore replied. “And it’s not the only one. One of my people, a scholar named McCarter, studied the hieroglyphic data we brought back from Brazil. He concluded that this stone is one of four.”

“There are three others out there?”

“We think so,” Moore said. “Two in Central America, one somewhere in the Eurasian plain, probably central Russia.”

“Have we told them about this?” Stecker asked the president.

Henderson shook his head.

“Well, that’s something,” Stecker said. “You got anyone looking for that one?” he asked Moore.

“Can you think of a way to do it, without alerting them?”

“No,” Stecker said. “Good move.” He appeared cordial for the first time. It didn’t last long. “Okay,” he continued. “So let’s say I believe all this. What’s the point?”

“We’re not sure,” Moore said. “But we come to one possible conclusion: A thousand years from now the world is not like the one we live in today. Our best guess: radioactive background, skies of acid rain filled with carbon and sulfur.”

“And this … stone … is supposed to do something about that?”

“It seems logical,” Moore said.

“Then why are you telling me about it?”

Moore looked at the president.

“Because,” President Henderson said, “I want both of you working on it, both agencies, along with the best minds you can find.”

“Why now?”

This time Moore answered. “Because the stone is building up a wave of energy, priming itself for something massive and sending out a signal that diminishes slightly in length with each new iteration. A signal that will reach zero, eleven days from now on December 21, 2012.”

CHAPTER 21

Standing on the weather-beaten deck of a rusted, aging freighter, Danielle watched over the port rail as Hong Kong disappeared behind them. They’d bribed their way onto the vessel and sailed with it in the early hours of the morning. The ship, laden to the brim with small-engine parts and other manufactured goods, was headed on a southeasterly course toward its home port in Manila. Danielle’s own home lay much farther away and if she was right it would be a long time before she saw it again.

While Hawker minded Yuri, she attempted to contact Arnold Moore on the satellite phone.

“Thank God you’re alive,” Moore exclaimed. “I honestly feared the worst. The explosion at Kang’s tower was all over the news. Back cha

She thought about Petrov. “I think some people were killed, but they weren’t terrorists. And we’re okay. But I’m worried about McCarter—Hawker said you’d heard from him.”

“He reached us shortly after you were taken,” Moore said to her. “But no contact since. He said he was injured, but insisted it was manageable, so I have no explanations for his silence. I have several teams looking for him. But Mexico’s a big country.”

“He’d run even if he saw them,” she said, thinking about how little McCarter trusted the NRI. “You don’t think Kang has gotten to him?”

“Doubtful,” Moore said. “Our data shows his people swarming all over the Yucatan. But nothing to suggest he’s found McCarter. So wherever the good professor is hiding, let’s hope he maintains the sense to stay there. Perhaps he’ll listen to you, if we can reestablish contact.”

After a moment of contemplation Danielle decided that was unlikely. Once upon a time she had dragged McCarter into things, but in this case he was a fellow zealot, all but possessed by the need to push on. The fact that he would not fly back to the States after what had happened was only the latest proof.

“Is Hawker with you?” Moore asked.

She looked ahead on the deck to where Hawker was watching Yuri, showing the boy how to use his hand like a wing and let it ride on the wind. Yuri didn’t speak often but as he copied Hawker’s actions his face beamed with joy.

She’d felt a similar wave of happiness at seeing Hawker again, mostly because he was rescuing her, but also because he was a friend. That was a precious commodity she’d pretty much run out of.